


Swish-Boom

by saltyynoodles



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Basketball AU, Before relationship, Fluff, Gen, Lams - Freeform, M/M, Oneshot, platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 20:16:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8115985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltyynoodles/pseuds/saltyynoodles
Summary: Alex is just a high schooler that wants to play some good basketball. John's a cheeky friend who helps. (Or a basketball AU I have no excuse for)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello hello! I'm not dead!  
> I'm not quite sure what inspired this but I'm really getting into playing basketball ^.^
> 
> >> disclaimer: I don't own Ham or Basketball

_Swoosh_.  
The ball easily rolls around the rim and falls in, hitting the ground with a satisfying smack. He knew it would— that's what hours of practice got one. Alex smirks to himself and quickly snatches the ball, dribbling and already getting into shooting position.  
_Another free throw? Or perhaps a lay up_? He can easily see them— the enemy blocking, trying to stop him but— ah. The orange ball smoothly rolls from his calloused fingers to the hoop. Perhaps he doesn't have jump or height— but Alexander Hamilton is _fast_. No one can beat him on his court.  
Twisting around, he grabs the ball again, switching from his left to right hand. _Approach, dodge_ — shoot! The squeak of sneakers on court and bright fluorescent lights is where he shines. His vision tunnels on the hoop and he jumps, shoots from his chest and a crisp swish follows.  
_Again_. Again— he wants to keep playing. God, he’d live in the gymnasium if he could. _One more—_  
The ball slams to the ground and Alex finds himself looking up at an extremely self-satisfied looking John Laurens.  
“Dammit Laurens!” he scowls, stumbling after the ball. Rhythm suddenly broken, fatigue creeps up his legs. He glances through the windows and realizes it's already evening. The coach would be _pissed_.  
The Southern teenager laughs and steals the basketball from Alex and makes a quick shot and beautifully misses. “Does the coach know you're here on an off-day, _Alexander_?”  
He rolls his eyes and ignores the jello feeling he gets from Laurens saying his name in such a tone. He grabs the rebound, “Washington doesn't care as long as I don't track mud inside.” _At least I hope so._  
Wrapping his muscled arm around the Alex’s neck, John gives another boisterous laugh. “There’s this _amazing_ thing called ‘resting’, _Hamilton_.” Pushing off, he starts dribbling towards the basket. “Anyways— I told you to call me _John_.” He yells the last part as he leaps up, slamming the ball down into the hoop.  
Alex reluctantly grins. The court may belong to him, the the air is Laurens’ territory. The tall, lanky high schooler normally seemed like the clumsiest person alive— _what a difference a ball in hand makes_. Every time the curly-haired teen leaps, something in Alex’s chest does too. Running forward, he holds out his arms, “toss to me— I want to do something.” After an accusing glance, Alex teasingly sighs, “just _one_ thing.”  
Naturally ‘one thing’ quickly turns into a one on one between the two, Alex pushing his weary limbs to make ridiculous and silly shots just to hear John’s cackle. In return, the he flaunts around, making a big deal of getting past Alex’s subpar defense and dunking the ball. “Foul! Foul! Ref— you see that?!” Alex calls out to an imaginary supervisor.  
John nudges him, eyes sparkling as he nimbly grabs the ball.. “ _Damn_ Hamilton— you drive a mean basketball.”  
“Oh shut up.”  
“I believe the proper response is ‘ _why thank you, my good sir, John_ ’!”  
“Oh give me a _break_.”  
The Southernern strengthens his drawl, “well I'll let you have one if you dunk.”  
Alex raises his eyebrow, but John’s serious, despite the fact Alex has never successfully dunked before. The air was for John and yet . . . _alright he’s serious— I'm serious too then._ Let's go.  
Time seems to slow down— Alex slips below John’s arm and grabs the ball, stretching the one and a half steps he has. _One step_. Sweat drips down his face, blurring his vision. _Two_ — leap— _swish_. His wrists jar against the red rim, but not before he releases. His calves burn, but nothing beats his grin.  
“One more for Hamilton!” Alex crows, chest heaving. The court falls silent and John stares, shocked, unable to believe the shorter teen actually—  
“Holy _shit_ , Alexander!” The teasing ‘Hamilton’ title forgotten, they high five.  
Finally, John picks up the ball and dribbles it a few more times, wiping his forehead, “alright I think that's enough for today.”  
For once Alex isn't in protest— honestly he doesn't even think he can walk: his legs are visibly shaking and he’s tired. The entire afternoon and the jump have completely drained him— his skin is practically steaming with heat and sweat. “Hey John—” he takes a step and his legs give out. _Well this is unfortunate_ — his arms are in rigor mortis and he feels like a battery with all its juice sucked out.  
“ _Alexander_!”  
Warm arms embrace him before he hits the ground. He's being hoisted up, tips of his sneakers barely touching the court in _his_ — John’s— arms. His heart's still racing, perhaps not just from overexerting himself. As if given unconscious permission, his legs fully and truly deaden, exhausted and drained. “Hey John,” Alex gives a weak grin, “I, uh, think I'm a bit tired.”  
John wraps him in a loose hug, “no shit, Sherlock. You see, there's this _amazing_ thing called resting—”  
“Shush.”  
They slowly make their way to the bench, bickering all the while.  
“Hey, I don't see those legs getting home any time soon on their own!”  
A cold sense of worry nestles in Alex. His breathing speeds up, “wait . . . you’re joking about that right? You'll . . . help me home right?” Because— oh _God_ — he can't get home. He’s too tired, his legs won't move and—  
Concern lights in the other’s dark eyes and Alex melts a little, “of course. Sorry I shouldn't have teased. Don't worry about it.” John soothingly drums lightly on his arm, and Alex’s reminded of how the other boy used to play drums in middle school.  
“Alright,” the taller teen stands up, careful not to disrupt him. “I'm going to go clean up the court whilst you cheer me on and say, repeatedly mind you, ‘ _John Lauren's you're so hot! Take your shirt off!_ ’”  
Alex appreciates the topic change, but not necessarily the _topic_ itself. He sticks out his tongue at John, “like hell I’m saying that!”  
The other student is already picking up the basketballs but Alex can still clearly hear his laughter. “Come on— I may even do it!”  
“Shut it! I'm not participating in your weird-ass kink!”  
Laughter turns to choked goose honking, and Alex cracks up. It takes a while for John to half-crawl with laughter to the storage closet and help the shorter boy stand up. They exit the gym and the night air is cool and rejuvenating. “The moon is beautiful tonight. _Hey_ . . . but guess who’s beautifulerly beautifulest?”  
“God, I swear John, if you make this stupidly _cheesy_ —”  
“ _You_.”  
“Goddamnit Laurens— ‘beautifulerly’ isn't even a _word_!”  
"Then I'll make it one!"  
They laugh, arm in arm, enjoying the cool night and the sensation of feeling alive. The full moon sits above, looking down upon the two content silhouettes.  
.  
.  
.  
( _Thank you_ )


End file.
